Taking Moments
by diva.gonzo
Summary: Ron's busy working for George and also busy with his apprenticeship with the Aurors. Hermione works full time and studying to become a solicitor. Their schedules don't mesh much as newlyweds. How will they cope, adapt, and still find time for one another? Rated M for Ron's coarse language, angst and fluff. Cover artwork by catching-smoke aka tlpursuit.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This was written for the R/HR smutfest, on Tumblr and LJ. My thanks to E for the beta work along with a terrific prompt to work with. Also, for those in Islington, this story is set a week before my other fic, The Prodigal Son Returns. *grin*

**A/N2:** Per the owl reminder from my Solicitor, I don't own HP or Ron and Hermione or anything Harry Potter related. The only thing I own is a breadbox, courtesy of my mum, so I can put home baked loves in. - _DG_

* * *

Harsh winds whipped across the walkway. Sodium lights overhead illuminated the tall young man walking briskly on the pavement, his features tucked into the cloak he had pulled tight around his lanky frame. The hand knitted scarf was tucked into the top of his coat under his cloak, barely keeping the cold off of his neck.

"Merlin, that was one fuckin' long day." Ron continued to grump on his walk to the flat after working 16 hours. "Bloody sods! Who the hell does potion experiments with kids at home! Shite! And who the hell said that putting nightshade in a sleeping draught was a bright idea? Too bad the arse won't have to deal with those consequences. Ruddy tosspot. What wanker puts their kids through that trauma? Stupid fuckwad!"

Ron saw the toes of his boots covered in muck. He might have to pitch them into the incinerator if Hermione or Mum couldn't get the gunk off of them. The stench of dragon dung was too much. He might be a grown man, but he knew that he was pants when it came to stringent cleaning charms. Between the boots and the ends of his robe covered in Flobberworm paste, he needed a complete disinfecting – at least his clothes did.

He reached up, checking his hair and found something in it. "Oh fuck! What the hell is this?" He pulled the muck out and couldn't discern what the mess was. "Shite! I need a scrubbing too."

Ron saw the blinking clock in front of the Muggle bank on his walk home. "5:45", he read in consideration. _Maybe Hermione can scrub my back along with a leg over before she has to leave. It's been a week since we've shagged – and that was a quickie in the shower before she went into work._

Ron thought back to that Monday morning. He'd been at the offices all night – working the night shift because he and Harry were the lowest on the seniority pole – and Hermione didn't have to be into work until 9am. He'd gotten home at almost 6 am to find her disrobing for a shower.

_Ron stepped into their bedroom and saw his wife's shapely arse, bent over the tub. He reacted immediately, watching her bum while she moved over the tub. "Don't mind me, please continue."_

_Hermione turned her head at her rather tardy husband and gave him an award winning smile. "Want to join me for a shower? I know you could use one after working all night."_

"_Don't mind if I do," Ron said as he stripped out of his Auror robes and uniform. He watched her strip out of her vest and knickers with a slight blush on her cheeks. _

"_You look fuckin' amazing."_

_She turned and stepped into their loo, and he happily followed her. _

"_Merlin, it's been too long since we've done this."_

_She turned back to him after starting the shower. "Well, you're busy working nights, helping George in the afternoon and on Saturday – and then lunch on Sunday with the family. It's not like we have too much time together of our own, right?_

_Ron stepped right up to his newlywed wife and watched her cheeks flush from their proximity. "And let's not talk about you working full time and studying to be a solicitor, too." Ron laid a searing kiss upon his wife's waiting lips. "I thought once we finished we'd have more time for us."_

_Hermione returned the favor by gripping him and working her small hands around his growing ardour. "We have responsibilities, dear. It's not like we can sit at home pulling the strings of the world with ill-earned galleons or inherited money."_

_Ron threw his head back in growing lust for the talent of his wife's hands. He growled, the shower drowning out most of the noise he was making. "You keep that up and you won't get to play with Him how you like."_

_Hermione gave Ron a salacious wink before stepping into the shower stall. "Are you coming or not?" She offered._

"_Cheeky wench," he growled before joining her._

Ron stopped to adjust his trousers under his cloak and robes. That morning was brilliant – and the last time they had time for one another in over the last week.

He made it to the stairs of their building, a three story walk-up in Muggle London. It was close enough to Harry for visiting, but just far enough away to have their space. They didn't mind it since they could close the Floo to visitors most of the time. Only Mum would try to interrupt, yelling through the fireplace when they wouldn't answer her call immediately – then apologize profusely when one of them would come out of their bedroom, obviously disheveled and rather irritated.

They needed those times, just the two of them, when they could take the time to reconnect and fall back in love with each other.

"Blimey, George and Charlie'd call me a twat for needing her." _Cor, neither one of them are married. So who's the twat now?_

Ron took the stairs two at a time with the hope of seeing Hermione. Breakfast might be nice, too – fried eggs, beans and toast, and a platter of bacon - but a leg over would make the morning just right.

He came to their door and put his hand on the handle. The protective magic around their residence was as tight, if not tighter, than the security at Gringotts. Hermione and Bill saw to the wards themselves before they moved in. Ron even took the extra precaution of having Aurors do a security breach on it – and they failed, too.

Ron tapped his wand on the handle, and it opened with a click. "Hermione, I'm home."

His voice replied back.

"Hermione, I'm home!"

Ron closed the door behind him and heard nothing in the flat. Bacon wasn't cooking in the kitchen, and the shower wasn't running. He looked around and didn't see her briefcase or her cloak. "Where the hell is my wife?"

Ron walked into their galley kitchen and saw the note on the counter.

_Ron:_

_I had a meeting at the office this morning. I left early so I could finish preparing for it. There's breakfast in the oven for you. Sorry you had a long night._

_I'll see you this evening._

_-Hermione_

Ron stared at the note in growing frustration. "One bloody morning, that all I ask. Why the fuck? One bleeding morning with my wife –"

Director Robard's Rottweiler Patronus popped into the kitchen. "Weasley! Get your arse back in the office. I still need two reports from you as well as the debriefing at 7am before you're off the clock."

Ron sighed and pulled his wand from the holster on his leg. He thought of the last time he had time to properly make love to his wife before sending his Jack Russell terrier off to the Auror offices. _I can at least change my robes before going back in._

He trudged to their bedroom to change his attire before returning to work for another few hours of paperwork and arrest debriefings.

* * *

Hermione stepped into the flat to darkness. That wasn't surprising nowadays, since Ron was working afternoons with George and the night shift at the Ministry. Their current schedule wasn't helping their marriage in the least. Her classes to become a licensed Solicitor took what little time she had left after her full time work in Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures.

She realized months into her job that the only way that she could make the progressive and wildly radical changes in the Magical world was to be in a position of authority – and the only way she could do that before she was bent over by old age was by having even more credentials.

The fools in the directorship didn't care about competency – just certifications and heritage. Heritage she couldn't do much about; certifications, however, were within her control. Ministry directors didn't care if you were completely ineffective. Their concern was keeping the status quo through class status and procuring donations from the Wizarding Landed gentry. Invites to the various parties helped ease those who were incompetent.

Some days, it didn't seem like the effort was worth it. The separations and stress on their marriage were taking a toll. At least she hoped this stress would only be temporary. They had another year to go before she would graduate from Oxford after reading Law – and by then, Ron would be finished with his apprenticeship and earning his junior class Auror status.

It still wouldn't give them more time together. Ron loved helping out George in the shop, and the galleons he made from the part time work with his brother – along with the occasional idea he had for the shop – paid as well, if not more, than his primary employment.

Hermione would never ask Ron to choose between his brother, his ambitions, and her. Sure, they were both spread thin, but they both loved what they were doing – or were planning on doing. Ron was exhausted every day, but he thrived while chasing his goals. He was happiest doing what he loved.

That was what she told herself every day she came home to a dark flat and no husband.

She laid down her briefcase and her beaded bag on the chair in their kitchen and sighed. Dishes were stacked in the sink – clean, but not put away – and if she had to guess, the leftover takeaway from last night would be gone.

"Ron, can you not put dishes away once they were clean? How bloody hard is it to put them four feet higher in the cabinet?" Hermione looked in the cooling cabinet and didn't see the package with the roasted chicken and parsnips. "Terrific, another night of eating Weetabix for dinner. Can you not leave me something to eat?"

Hermione saw the time on the oven and cringed. "No wonder why Ron isn't home. It's half ten. He goes on shift at 9pm. I bet he's mad as fire that I wasn't home before he left for work."

Hermione moved to the cooling cabinet to get the milk out but there was none left. _Ron! Did you leave me anything to eat tonight?_ _I bought groceries three days ago!_

She reached into the other cabinet and found the bread along with the hazelnut spread she knew he wouldn't eat. _At least I'll have something to eat tonight._

_Tap, tap, tap._

Hermione turned and saw an owl at their window. She laid down the bread slice and the knife for the spread before walking over to the window and the cold owl. She didn't immediately recognize, it but Ministry correspondence rarely used the same owl for intra-city deliveries. She approached it and looked out the condensation covered window for any intruders that could possibly breach the wards. Feeling secure, she let the tawny owl into their flat. There was a scrap of parchment attached to his leg.

"Do you need to stay and warm up or do you want to get back to your roost?"

The owl shivered on the perch he took in their living room and tucked his beak under a wing.

"You stay and rest then. I'll answer this parchment from my husband later tonight."

She unrolled it and saw his less than tidy script on the parchment in her hands.

_Hermione:_

_Where the bloody hell were you tonight? You said you'd be home before I left for work. I waited until the last second and you never called, never sent an owl, and certainly didn't leave me any word what's going on._

_Please send the department owl back as soon as you get this. I'm going to be beside myself worrying until you do._

_Ron_

Hermione read the note once again to make sure she didn't misunderstand him. Off she went to her study to get a quill, ink, and fresh parchment for the owl to make a short return trip to the Ministry tonight.

_Ron:_

_I was late getting out of class along with the study group. I didn't even realize what time it was until I walked into the flat. I'm sorry I wasn't there to see you off this evening. _

_The meeting went well today, so I will go in at my regular time in the morning. I look forward to seeing you. Maybe we could have a repeat of last Monday?_

_Hermione  
_

She walked back to the owl perched on the edge of the bookcase. Hermione ran a finger gently down the owl's head to get his attention.

"Sorry to wake you, but my husband wants this back tonight. I know it's cold, and I'm sorry to send you back out in this weather." The owl looked up from the spot under her wing and hooted softly. "If you want, once you deliver the letter, you can peck his hand for making you work so hard tonight."

The owl hooted louder before hopping to the window.

Hermione watched the owl depart into the night – and sighed in realization that tonight was going to be another cold night in their empty bed. Chocolate nut spread on bread suddenly didn't sound appealing.

She turned towards the bedroom and felt Crookshanks weaving between her legs. "Yes, you get the pillow tonight. At least you'll be content and comfortable."

She opened the door and watched Crookshanks settle into Ron's pillow on the other side of the bed. While he settled into his sleep, she disrobed out of her long-worn attire and pulled on flannel sleep trousers, a long-sleeved shirt, and one of his old jumpers from his Mum. After a quick trip to the loo for brushing her teeth and her hair, she sat down on the edge of the bed.

There were too many lonely nights in her bed for the tears to stay inside. Another tear leaked out after she looked at the pictures that adorned her bedside table. There was one from their second year, taken by Colin Creevey, and another by Molly the week of Bill and Fleur's wedding, a third from when they returned home, battle worn and slowly recovering, and the last, from their wedding day, looking immaculate in their finery.

Each one reminded her of what she was missing tonight.

Another tear fell. Hermione didn't bother to wipe it from her face.

_Merow?_

She turned back to the bed and lifted the bedclothes before snuggling under the covers. Once her head hit the pillow, the tears fell harder than before. Nothing could staunch the flow for the evening.

Hermione Granger-Weasley cried herself to sleep. Years later and she was still crying over Ron Weasley.

* * *

Hermione woke up panting and sweating. One particular face sneered at her from under her husband's naked body. Black hair with hazel eyes taunted her, nasty words spoken while Hermione stood impotent, watching, until she was yanked from the nightmare. She was thankful that a noise or something else pulled her from that particular dream. _It was _j_ust a garden variety nightmare. Ron can't stand Pansy Parkinson to save her life. He'd never do that._

She strained her eyes to see that Crookshanks wasn't on the other pillow. _Maybe he's making a mess in the kitchen._

Hermione rolled out of the cold bed and threw on her flannel housecoat to investigate. With her wand in her hand, she padded out of the bedroom to the kitchen. Crookshanks ran full tilt, running into the cabinets and legs of the furniture in their flat. He was chasing a mouse, trying to catch it in the den.

Hermione checked the clock on the oven. _5:30_.

_Terrific. Maybe Ron'll get home before I have to leave for work. _

Hermione set the tea kettle on the oven along with a pot for her bowl of porridge. Shortly thereafter, the kettle was whistling, the porridge was the right consistency, and the bowl of fruit and crème was ready for her. A quick stir and she was ready to eat.

Crookshanks jumped up into Ron's chair and looked at the dishes on the table. "Catch the mouse, did you?"

Crookshanks gave what could be approximated as a cat shrugging his shoulders before turning his face back to the bowls in front of her. "Hoping for more for breakfast, like the crème for my fruit?"

_Mreow_

"You might if I don't eat it all."

Hermione tucked into her bowls and ate mechanically. The berries weren't sweet, and the oats in her bowl were far from tasty. What she missed were the sounds and smells of Ron's cooking – fried eggs and rashers toast, beans and tomatoes. He wasn't as adept as his Mum – Hermione wasn't either, not by a long-shot – but it was edible, which was occasionally better than what Hermione could do for breakfast. She might not eat those things for breakfast, but the smells reminded her of Ron.

She looked down and saw that the bowl of porridge and fruit was empty. "Alright. You get the leftovers."

Hermione stood up and put the bowl on his placemat on the floor. Crookshanks dove in, lapping at the remaining crème in the bowl. She left him at the bowl on the floor while she walked back to the bathroom to take a shower after breakfast. She turned the handle for the shower so the hot water could billow out as steam in the small water closet.

Once that was going, she threw off her flannel housecoat. She slid her ice cold hands onto her hips and dropped the flannel sleep trousers, followed by the silk sleep trousers she got last year for Christmas. Hermione shivered despite the growing warmth of the small room. She quickly threw off Ron's old jumper and the long sleeved shirt underneath it. All that remained for her to criticize was the obscene yellow vest and muted lilac knickers.

Hermione stood before the mirror and gauged her appearance. The intervening years had helped fill out some of the curves on her body. Molly still quietly commented on her looking painfully thin, but her own Mum never said a word about her appearance. _Ha! It's not like Mum and I actually talk more than pleasantries, still._

Hermione wiped the glass on the mirror to look more closely at her face. She lifted her hair and checked on the few strands of gray that were slowly coming into her dark tresses. She lowered her hair back down and sighed, knowing what was coming. Dark circles under her eyes marred her features. Then again she didn't sleep enough to actually look well rested. There were miniscule creases near her eyes and along her brow – but those were hidden most of the time under the barely vain glamour charms she used for the office. Fleur taught her that tidbit the first night they sat and talked when neither one of them could sleep after the war ended. Only Ron saw her without the concealing magic – and he didn't mind one bit.

Hermione shook her hair out and stripped out of the rest of remaining garments. She did a hasty once-over on her body and saw that the two remaining love bites, courtesy of Ron, were starting to fade. _Has it been that long since we've been intimate? Have we gone so long that I've forgotten the feel of his lips on my skin, his teeth nipping at my tender spots? Have I been so busy that I've missed his talented fingers, teeth, and tongue?_

_Maybe he'll get home while I'm in the shower, and we can have a quick round of _How's your father? _this morning._

Hermione stepped into the scalding hot shower and relished the warmth of the spray on her chilled skin. It was the only other thing that could warm her up, at least temporarily. Rivulets trickled down her back and across the myriad of scars there. She dunked her head under the spray while running her nails across her scalp. It was a poor substitute for her husband's hands cradling her head while he snogged her senseless. She ran a hand down her belly and felt the water trickling through her fingers and along the barely there hairs on her abdomen. She ran her hand up to her scar on her chest, the one that was inflicted that terrible day so long ago. She felt the pressure from the water cascading across it but the warmth from the water wasn't there.

_I guess he's running late once again. _

Hermione set to washing her hair and scrubbing her body before preparing for work. As much as she wanted to get a leg over, duty called.

Too bad duty didn't slake the ache she had for her paramour.

She finished in the loo before picking out her attire for the office today. The manual clock on the wall said that she had fifteen minutes until she had to be at her desk.

She pulled on the jumper over her blouse when she heard swearing from the living room. _About time!_

Hermione pulled her hair from the collar and rushed into the living room. Sure enough, Ron was standing next to the fireplace complaining vociferously about his boots getting caught in the Floo.

"Ron," Hermione choked out.

He turned and the frown on his face melted away. "Blimey, you look stunning this morning." He pulled her close and claimed her lips for his own. "Fuckin' missed you last night," he moaned through their kiss.

Hermione ran her fingers through his hair. "Wish we had more time this morning."

"Can't you be late?" He whispered into the hair above her ears. She pulled his face away from there and demurely stuck her tongue in his mouth to silence his protesting. Hands worked quickly along his trousers to open his pants to her waiting hands.

"No time otherwise," she said quietly while taking him in hand. She gently freed him from the confines of his trousers and pants.

"Ugh," he groaned, trying to grab the mantle to hold onto while she took matters into her own hands. "Fuck! Cold hands!"

"Keep complaining and I'll stop," Hermione said with a fleck of anger in her voice. "It's not like we have twenty minutes to shag against the wall."

Hermione dropped to her knees and continued to work efficiently. Moments later, Ron was cursing and panting from her attentive ministrations. She ran her tongue across the set of nerves under the head of his prick, hitting just the right spot.

"Fuck! Bloody Fuck!"

A quick incantation and Ron was tidied up. "Now I really have to go to work." She turned to collect her briefcase, her beaded bag, her lunch, and a winter cloak while he was still standing next to the fireplace trying to catch his breath. She gave him a quick kiss before grabbing a handful of Floo powder. "I've got class tonight, so don't wait for me."

She disappeared in a flash of green fire before Ron could open his eyes.

"**FUCK!"** He yelled in utter frustration.


	2. Chapter 2

This was not how he wanted to spend a Friday night – sitting at his wife's desk studying for his competencies on Monday morning. The letter he received from Mum earlier in the day was on the desk under the other pieces of parchment. Charlie was coming into town next week, and she wanted everyone who was in country to be at her house the first night he was home. He wouldn't mind in the least. Charlie and food, and maybe his wife, would make a terrific evening – if he didn't have to go to work afterwards.

Ron hadn't seen Hermione since the impromptu knob polishing he got from his wife Wednesday morning. Between his shifts going over each morning now – and her hectic work and class schedule – they hadn't had time to do much else 'cept wave at one another in the hallways at work.

Instead, he was sitting at the miniscule desk that didn't fit his lanky body one bit, reading the Auror manual on investigational procedures. Chronic interruptions at work made his desk the last place he should study. His wife was up in Oxford, probably sitting at her parent's dining room table studying from her classes earlier in the day – or at the Ministry getting caught up on her work from earlier in the week.

The only thing he knew for certain was that she wasn't here, with him, getting starkers.

If he had a choice, Ron Weasley would be throwing back a pint at the Leaky Cauldron or Hog's Head with Harry and laughing his head off – or shagging his wife rotten in their bed, or on the couch, dining room table, or anywhere he could steal a few precious moments with her. He wouldn't be sitting in an ancient chair at a too-small desk studying on a bloody Friday night.

The words swam on the parchment in front of his abnormally long nose – particular critical documents needing triplicate copies for the Wizengamot alone, storage procedures of investigations regarding memories and interrogations of suspects, and other things that made his head hurt. Every word that passed his eyes made him think of his wife: hair in a bun, ink on her fingers and possibly her nose, and eyebrows deep in a tome that could be used to bludgeon rats and other small vermin.

Ron put the parchment down on the desk and sat back in the old if comfortable chair. Hermione insisted on this oversized monster of an office chair. She said she found it at a charity shop, and the behemoth weighed a ton, but it was cheap and very comfortable, even for his frame.

Images swum through his mind, harkening back to days when they were still scarred from the war and yet naïve to what they were walking into. They both assumed that they knew what they wanted out of life once she finished school. It was one of the few things they agreed to without a row. He hadn't anticipated that there would be even more demands on their time once he finished training camp, or his lessons, or that George still needed him some days. He couldn't complain about George since the money he made there more than made up for the shitty wages he earned as an apprentice Auror.

Hermione understood the painful necessities that they had thrust upon their lives. Ron had a duty to his family – namely George – but also to his ambition and goal in life to be an Auror. Hermione wanted to change the world but needed the credentials to be recognized and accepted. That took time, money, and effort.

Mostly, it was about the money. Hermione never said a negative word about how hard he worked. She understood his desire to have galleons in the bank or to be able to afford the occasional new item for the flat. They needed his second income, at least for the time being. They could have lived with Harry and Ginny another year – or a lifetime, the way Harry talked – but they needed their own space once they got married. The rent was atrocious, and it was in a crappy walk-up, but it was theirs to do what they wanted with it.

Their own secret was that they wanted to have what little time together with each other. Hermione didn't want anyone to hear her frustrations at her work in the Ministry. Even if the world changed dramatically, the bureaucracy there was ingrained down to the tiled floors. Within weeks of being hired, she was grinding her teeth in frustration – at the Directorship, at the glacial change of pace, and even the pureblood bias that still kept the status quo.

They weren't prepared for reality, much less the frustrations of adulthood and the demands on the two very busy newlyweds. They hadn't even had time for a row in weeks, not that it meant that things were pixie dust for them. When they did have time for a row, some were petty and others quite vicious. They both had strong opinions and ideas on how to get what they wanted out of life, once they realized they would actually have one. Dad told him one quiet evening that rowing was necessary in a marriage for two strong-willed people.

Ron thought back to Wednesday morning and felt the stinging frustration at the hurried knobjob she gave him. Sure, he felt better later on, enough to sleep more than four hours, but not at the expense of having his wife frustrated with him for days on end. Ron'd never tell a soul, but his wife had an appetite for him like he had for her. He missed her like he missed Mum's treacle tart or chocolate cauldron cakes. She would have taken her tension out on the people in the office or in the classroom that night. Poor sods would be on the receiving end of her brusque and temperamental tongue.

During the quiet moments when he wasn't busy, Ron would daydream about turning over all the galleons in their vault at Gringotts and walking away from reality. He'd give up his security just so he could have more waking moments with his wife.

Only then would her voice chime in his head to disabuse him of that notion.

_Bollocks and you know it. Hermione wouldn't walk away from her own goals and ambitions. You're chasing your goals with her support. It'll settle down soon enough. Suck it up so you can support her, too, you selfish twat. _

Ron heard a click behind him and turned with his wand at the ready. Hermione stood in the doorway looking like a thunderhead.

"What's wrong, Hermione?"

She dropped her briefcase and frayed beaded bag and stalked across the room toward her comfortable chair. Her hand held her vinewood wand – and Ron pushed further back into the chair since he knew the other one was concealed on her arm.

"Hermione," he whined.

She reached for the collar of his jumper and laid a passionate kiss on his lips. He fell into the kiss almost immediately, reaching for the strings of her cloak. Her wand clattered to the floor while she straddled his lap in the chair.

"Merlin, what's gotten into you?"

Hermione leaned in and returned to snogging him ferociously.

Ron wrenched her from his lips a second time. "What's my most valuable possession?"

Hermione leaned back in and nipped at the lobe on his left ear. "Your Deluminator. It brought you back to us, and me, when we needed you most."

Ron wrapped his arms around his wife and worked feverishly at the strings on her cloak. "What – "

She slid out of his embrace to kneel in front of him. Deft fingers worked the buttons of his dress shirt and buckle of his belt.

"Cutting it a bit short tonight, aren't you?"

"You have no idea," she growled while continuing to manually remove every stitch from his reclining body. She worked quickly on his boots and socks. Within mere moments, Ron was down to only his trousers and pants. Hermione ran her hand across the front of his trousers before reaching her hand inside of them, gently palming the evident bulge beneath the fabric. "Almost two whole weeks is entirely too bloody long to go without you." She pulled her hand out of his pants and worked the zipper of his trousers. "And right now, I don't care if we shag over the desk or up against the wall, or even on this cold floor, I want you."

Ron lifted his hips and stared at his gorgeous wife. The elastic of the waistband caught on the end of his prick, eliciting a howl from him. "Watch it, woman! That bloody hurts!"

Hermione gave him a look, dark and smouldering and full of promise, before yanking his trousers and pants off his long legs. "Now that's better." She stood back up and started to work the buttons on her blouse. One wouldn't cooperate under her dainty fingers. "Bugger," she growled before ripping the blouse apart then shoving the grey wool skirt down her hips and legs.

Ron appraised her appearance, standing before him in functional white undergarments. "You obviously didn't plan on seducing me tonight, did you?"

Hermione looked at her knickers and bra and snorted in consternation. She pulled her brassiere off of her torso and stepped out of her knickers. "It's called," she muttered under her breath while she went to straddle on his lap, "taking advantage of the opportunity afforded."

Ron pulled her face to his and locked lips with hers. Someone moaned but neither could care since both were immediately lost in the affection they desperately craved. "Fuck, I missed you."

Hermione bit down on Ron's ear and heard a yelp from him. "Not so hard, woman. I don't need to lose any more parts."

Hermione pulled back from his face to look at him tenderly. She cradled his face in her small hands. "Two whole weeks, Ronald Weasley – two weeks since you've left me marked, sore, and quenched." Hermione laid a passionate kiss upon his slightly chapped lips. "I skipped out on my study session because tonight is the only night we have for a while before we're pulled back to obligations and duties. Top marks don't mean a thing if I don't have you by my side." Hermione put her nose next to his and looked deep in his dilated eyes. "I'm sick of being so busy that I don't see you for days on end. I hate that we're pulled in so many directions that we don't even have time to snog, much less shag. I'm fed up that we have to spend what precious moments we have together placating our families and friends, barely touching at the dinner table, acting appropriately."

Ron slouched further down in the chair while his wife settled onto him a soul satisfying sigh. She stayed that way, only moving to grind her hips into his.

"Hermione, either move or get off!"

"That's what I'm trying to do!"

"Barmy witch," Ron groaned from her continued grinding. "Lift up and I'll get you off."

Hermione moved her wild hair out of her face and saw Ron looking strained under her gyrating hips. "You're not getting off that easy, love." Hermione leaned back in and planted another voracious kiss on his lips. "We've got all night and you're going to wear me out." Hermione kept rolling her hips across Ron, building in a culminating shiver. She panted a little faster, and the color flushed across her face and chest. Even shivering, she kept grinding down on his hips.

"But I've got to work in the morning and studying to do tomorrow night – "

"So? Shut it and shag me."

Ron watched her using him gladly but he needed more. An idea sprung into his mind, one that he wanted to desperately try on their first trip to Australia. "Hop up. I've got a better idea."

"What, now? I'm not done yet."

Ron put his hands on her hips to still her movements. "You're gonna like my idea."

Hermione didn't retort but she did as he asked, raising up off of him to stand back on the floor. She watched Ron stand up and put her in front of the heavy office chair. "Now kneel on it, and stick your bum out for me."

Hermione looked at the heavy chair next to her desk and realized what he had in mind. "You might want to do a sticking charm on the feet of the chair. I don't want either one of us to get hurt tonight."

Ron grinned and hunted for his wand. He found it on the floor next to her skirt. A quick charm and the chair wouldn't budge. "It's ready for us."

Hermione did as he asked, and knelt on the cracked leather of the chair. Ron stepped up behind her and observed that she was now the perfect height for him. He ran his hand along the curves of her bum, feeling the soft hairs standing up for him. "Your arse is amazing." His hand wandered to the front of her body and felt her breasts standing at attention. "Your tits are pretty bloody hot, too."

His hand snaked further down her torso. Long fingers delved into private flesh. "Blimey, you're soaking wet." Ron continued to work the particular nub that was protruding under his greedy fingers.

"Quit teasing me, please!"

Ron pulled his fingers from her hot flesh. Her bum wiggled in front of him, taunting him in eager anticipation. He pulled her hips back to him and plunged back into her waiting body. "Bloody fuck, this is perfect." Large hands settled on her body, anchoring her further to the chair. One on her shoulder and the other on her left hip gave him more leverage to hit certain places that made her melt.

Hermione arched her back at their intimate reunion. "Ron!" Her hands gripped the top of the chair. "Yes, right there, don't stop, keep going," she muttered under his actions.

"Not bloody likely," he growled back over her shoulder. Ron nipped at the skin on her back, leaving bite marks across her shoulders and down her flanks. He nipped too hard when she moved and he heard her hiss under his teeth.

"Sorry, love," he whispered into her perspiring skin.

"Don't be," he heard her in reply. "I want more. Keep going," she panted under his thrusts, "– so I have trouble walking tomorrow."

Ron continued to nip along her spine, watching the skin flush under everything he was doing for her. She groaned under a particularly hard bite on the flesh on her scarred shoulder. Welts from his teeth decorated her skin along her back. "Ron, please, harder!"

He worked his way back up her melting body to her neck. One hand left her shoulder and worked to her breast. Long calloused fingers worried the peak of her nipple. Hermione squirmed under his fingers. "Oh Ron, fuck," she whispered, barely audible under his ever increasing groans.

Ron shifted his hips just enough to put his knee on the chair as well. Hermione gasped in the change of angle and whined under the increasing pressure low in her belly. Before long, she was chanting words that only made sense during these precious moments. His name was her prayer, chanted out in harmony to his rhythm.

Ron felt her tighten on him. Her words were coarse in his ears – things said that she would never admit to anyone else. But she still needed one more thing, one thing to send her over the edge into absolute bliss. There, just on the side, right under where a blade nearly took her life, he attached his talented lips to her neck and bit down just hard enough for her to feel it.

Hermione threw her head back and screamed, threatening to deafen Ron by her bellows. She clamped down on his manhood so much that he bit her neck a second time. She froze while he frantically thrust, losing his self-control immediately.

Once, twice, thrice he thrust before his hips locked, pressing as hard as he could on her soft cheeks. He moaned out her name.

Breathing echoed in the room. Hermione moved slightly while he held her tight, shifting his knee off of the chair and putting both of his feet back on the floor.

"Ron," Hermione panted from her place in front of him. "I need – "

"Shhhh." He twitched his hips and started thrusting once again. "We're not done yet. If I'm going to work exhausted tomorrow, then you're going be worn out too." Ron pushed his wife further forward into the chair, pressing her face into the cold leather of the chair backing. "That's what you told me earlier. You begged me for all night. This is for you, and only you."

He pulled his hand from her hips and traced his fingers down her scorching hot arms. "Hold on to the top of the chair." Ron threaded his hands above hers to press them into the cold leather. He leaned over her still scarred back and laid his chest on her pebbled skin. "Let go; don't hold back."

"Ron, I – "

"If you're tired, say the word and we'll stop. But you know it'll be at least a week, maybe longer, before we get another opportunity." Ron put his knee back on the chair and continued the slow motions of lovemaking that he knew that she appreciated. He dropped soft kisses where she was the most sensitive – on her neck, along her shoulders, behind her ears. The beauty mark behind her neck got more attention, lips and teeth making her shiver even harder.

Ron pulled one of his hands free and ran it down her arm, bypassing her shoulders to her hip. He pulled her tight to his body, working his fingers into her skin.

"Do you want another two weeks before we get this again, shagging in your chair on a Friday night?" Ron thrust harder and slightly more erratic. "It might be another two weeks unless you want Mum to catch us shagging in the pantry again."

Hermione made a deep sigh and shifted her hips some. "Maybe," she groaned.

"There's an idea," Ron worked his fingers into the coarse hairs under his fingertips. "We could take a break together and explore the broom closets at the Ministry." His fingers worked their way back to her hot flesh and gently touched the nerves under his fingertips. "And there's always locking the bathroom door when we're at Harry's place. It's not like we've not fucked in front of him, accidentally."

Hermione shivered under his renewed touch. "More," she whispered. "What ideas?"

Ron leaned back over her back and started nipping the skin on the top of her shoulders. "Merlin knows how I'd love to bend you over your desk and fuck you on your lunch break. There's a chance we'd get caught, shagging while others are working."

Hermione was panting under his words and deeds. Ron felt the muscles under her skin writhing. "That's what's got you hot right now. You want us to shag in public, don't you? You are so desperate for my cock that you'll risk humiliation so you can shag me. Tell me that's it, Hermione. Tell me this is what you want, taking moments out of our day to fuck."

Ron pulled her earlobe between his lips and bit it. "Tell me what you want, Hermione."

"You, I need you," she moaned.

"Tell me this isn't a once-off. You really want this." Ron moved his hands to her chest and worked her nipples again. "Blimey, you are turned on."

Hermione nodded frantically. Her hips were moving in counterpoint. Skin slapped against skin, wet flesh hitting one another. "Yes," she groaned under a particular twist. "Want a break at work. Need it. Need this. Need you."

Ron pulled his hands from her taut breasts to the fronts of her hips. "Ready?"

Hermione turned her head so she could capture his lips in a kiss. Ron poured everything he could into the kiss while Hermione responded in kind.

Ron pulled his lips from hers and trailed, wet sloppy ones across her jaw and down her neck, towards the old scar left there years prior. With his hands poised low on her hips, one finger beneath her curly hair at the groin working feverishly in time with her hips, he kissed his second favorite place.

Hermione shivered once again under his talented lips and dexterous fingers.

"I love you," Ron whispered into the salty skin of her neck. He shoved his thumb hard on the little nub of nerves and bit her neck again. He thrust hard and fast, hitting one particular spot that made her scream bloody murder.

"OHFUCKRON!" Hermione bellowed.

"Hell, I'm – " Ron frantically worked his hips to fulfill the unexpected climax that raced down his spine. "Hermione, Bloody Fuck!" Ron moaned over his wife's hyperventilating.

Hermione collapsed into the chair while Ron fell back hard against the edge of the desk, planting his sweaty arse on his papers. "Merlin's bollocks, that was incredible." He opened his eyes and saw his wife shaking in the chair in front of him. He knelt down next to the arm and looked at her face. Tears were trailing down her face.

"Good thing I know that my shagging was award winning tonight, otherwise I'd be worried."

Hermione looked over the edge of the arm of the chair, eyes bloodshot yet bright. "I needed that, so much, tonight."

Ron turned the chair to him and opened his arms. "Come on, let's tuck you into bed so you sleep all night."

Hermione twisted out of the chair and waited for Ron to stand up tall before her. "Stay with me?"

"I will, once I have a snack. For some reason, I'm hungry."

Hermione wobbled out of the chair and strong arms caught her imbalance. "Easy there. I got you."

Ron bent over and lifted her slim figure into his arms. She felt small there, easily carried back to their bedroom and their warm bed. He lowered her gently to the edge of the bed while she snuggled under the charmed bedclothes.

Before he pulled his sleep trousers and jumper from the dresser Hermione was fast asleep.

Ron's stomach grumbled as he dressed. "Wonder if there's some roast beef in the cooling cabinet?"

* * *

Ron and Hermione were the last to arrive at Sunday brunch at his parent's house. The cacophony echoed from the open doorway to the kitchen. "You know she's gonna fuss."

"Ron, we have a good enough reason. They wouldn't have started lunch without you."

"But we're almost an hour late!"

"Well come on then. I'm sure that Mum at least has pudding still for you."

Ron stopped in his tracks and turned to his wife. Their hands stayed together even with the sudden stop. "I don't really care about the pudding."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at her lover standing in front of her.

"What happened this morning was better than pudding."

Hermione blushed and turned her face away.

"No, I'm serious. That's the first morning in ages where we had no obligations for a few hours. Sure, the wake-up shag was fantastic but it was getting an hour in bed, with you, cuddling and talking and _just us _time. Blimey, I didn't realize how much I missed all of that sappy stuff too."

Hermione stepped inside his arms and hugged him as hard as she could. "I like the sappy stuff too, after you've shagged me so hard I can barely walk."

Ron tipped her head back so he could look at her closely. "Are you hurting this morning?"

"Nothing that a vial of pain potion doesn't help, or some concealing glamours on my skin don't hide."

She pulled her wand from her arm and performed the incantation flawlessly. Ron watched the patchwork of red and purple decorate both sides of her neck. "Blimey! I did all that?"

Hermione did the opposite spell again and he watched the skin turn back a beautiful shade of pale brown. "You did. If I didn't hide it today everyone would take the mickey from you and your mother would probably beat you with her wand for what you did to me Friday night."

Ron ran his hand through the hair on his head. "I could have just healed it, you know?"

Hermione gave Ron a lascivious wink before stowing her wand once more.

"Now why would I want you to do that? I want the reminder in the morning that my husband shagged me so rotten this weekend that I needed a pain potion to walk in his parent's house today. I might hide my bruises so his brothers don't harass him too much today, but I wanted you to mark me as yours." Hermione stood up on her toes to plant a quick yet hot kiss upon his lips. "I seem to recall that we might not have this again for a week, but we can take a few moments here and there for us."

"You mean that? Really?"

Hermione winked before turning and making her way into the Burrow and the mayhem contained within.

Ron stood out in the yard watching his wife's bum twitch under her trousers. He adjusted his trousers before running up the path to the kitchen door.

Hermione stopped at the door to the kitchen. "Besides, your brother Charlie will be in later this week, right? Who knows? Maybe you can impress him with some of your own feats of prowess."

"Really?"

Hermione stepped in the door. "Only if you keep the debauched details out of it."


End file.
